


Made You Fair and Good

by Vitreous_Humor



Series: Angel on the Outward Side [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Accidental Hitting, Angst, Body Weirdness, Crying, Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Seduction, Twink!Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27041344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vitreous_Humor/pseuds/Vitreous_Humor
Summary: "As long as it's me and you, of course we're going to be all right,” Crowley said with confidence.Aziraphale knew that it was at least partially a fib. Crowley didn't know it any more than he did. There were dark things inside him, and at least one of them, it turned out, had a name.-Some innocent fun after the Apocalypse brings up patterns that have had six hundred years to develop.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Angel on the Outward Side [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605307
Comments: 9
Kudos: 73





	Made You Fair and Good

It was going to be a special night, but if Aziraphale was being entirely fair, they were practically all special nights now.

He didn't think that things could be remade without actually ending, but that was how he had felt since the events the previous August, as if everything was new again. Perhaps it was only that the world was the same, and instead it was he and Crowley who were new, in it and of it in a way that they had never been before, _together_ as they had never been before.

It was all new, and it was all precious, and it was all so special.

Tonight was going to be special.

Aziraphale was honestly surprised that they had taken so long to get around to this particular pleasure, but between hand-holding and long weekends in Rome and the the garden shows and the car shows and the kisses and the lazy mornings as well as the slow nights... well, there was always so much to do. Sometimes, Aziraphale thought he really should have argued harder for that extended human lifespan back in the day- how in the world did humans get around to everything?

Crowley was the one to bring it up, and he'd done it with his usual graceful entry.

“So angel,” he said, raising an eyebrow in a way he likely thought worldly. “You wanna?”

“Hm? Want to what?”

In all fairness to him, he had been rather distracted with a lovely bit of cherry chocolate truffle they'd brought back to the shop from the bakery.

“You know.”

“No?”

Baffled, he looked up to see a look of such hope and nervousness in Crowley's face that he put the truffle down immediately.

“Oh my dear, whatever's the matter?”

“This proposition usually goes a lot smoother in my head,” Crowley mumbled.

“Propis- oh. Oh! You are _propositioning_ me.”

“So kind of you to notice, angel, yes.”

Tactfully, Aziraphale pulled Crowley's hands down from his face, giving him a look of fond exasperation.

“My dear, certainly you must know that my answer is yes.”

“Shouldn't assume something like that,” Crowley said stiffly. “After all, the last time I saw you at something like this-”

“Oh, _that_ silliness,” Aziraphale said, brushing off Guildford as if it was a bit of lint. “That has nothing to do with you and me, my love.”

“Yeah?”

Crowley looked hopeful, and Aziraphale ached. Had his first temptation really be so hard on Crowley? And all these years, he never said.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Nothing at all. And now it seems like you would like to make love?”

Crowley's breath caught, and he nodded, making Aziraphale smile. _Darling_ demon.

“Well,” he said with a flirtatious smile, “I seem to think that there was a way you wanted this to go? Your proposition, I mean?”

There was, and a quarter hour later, ruffled and just a little drunk on Crowley's kisses, he sent Crowley on ahead to the bedroom while he finished closing up the shop. He saw Crowley bite back a protest of any delay, but Closing Up the Shop was sacrosanct, even if it wasn't particularly sacred. The doors must be locked, the receipts bound together, the shades drawn and the world restored to order.

“All right, meet you upstairs,” Crowley sighed, the color high on his cheeks. “Don't keep me waiting.”

“Never, my dear.”

As he stacked the pamphlets and went to turn off the lights, however, Aziraphale was aware of a certain disquiet that he couldn't quite define, a low lurch in his belly, something like when he and Crowley kissed, only stronger and stranger. He turned off the lamps in the reading area, one and then the other, and the feeling grew, a little sick, but pleasurable too.

 _Oh, he wants me so,_ he thought, and that was new, want in the place where love usually was, and that felt like a puzzle piece snapping into place, something come home to roost.

Aziraphale turned off the hanging lights between the aisles, each sharp click deepening the dark and making it easier to breathe.

 _It has been a while, hasn't it?_ Aziraphale thought absently. _Been such a long time. I suppose it makes sense, I've been ever so busy recently, and this past year, well, you could fit a good century in the last twelve months, couldn't you?_

Still, it had been a while. A long time since.

Since what?

He turned off the overhead light that lit the central atrium. The bookshop settled into nighttime, and it wasn't as if he needed light to see. Aziraphale started up the stairs, and at the top, just shy of the door, Robbie made a face at the state of his clothes and his body, still tattered, all stained. His wrist was still bloody from where that sailor had bitten him. Why did he never wash up when he was done? Disgusting, really, especially when it was _Crowley_ waiting for him.

A snap of his fingers healed the bites and other hurts, setting his clothing back to rights. He had learned a few tricks in the last three hundred years or so, and he glanced down without interest at his clothes, fifteenth century if they were a day. Painfully out of date, but it wasn't as if they were going to stay on for very long.

He opened the door slowly, smiling at the candlelight glow that greeted him. Romantics. He loved romantics, they ever were so grateful.

Robbie made his way to the bed where Crowley sat fully clothed opposite, his back to him.

“I was thinking, angel,” Crowley said without turning around. “Maybe we should take this slow, yeah? I mean, definitely we should, er, _take_ it, but slow... slow's good too, and-”

Robbie eased onto the bed, crawling across to rest his sharp chin on Crowley's shoulder. He slid his hands down Crowley's chest before resting one comfortably between his legs.

“Oh, we can do it any way you like, soldier,” he whispered, kissing Crowley's ear, and the demon exploded away from him in a flurry of limbs. One flailing hand tagged Robbie hard on the cheek as Crowley whirled and staggered back with a cry.

“That hurt,” Robbie complained, forgetting to make it sexy, but Crowley's lips skinned back from his teeth, his face dead pale.

“Get it off,” Crowley all but shouted. “You take that fucking face off this instant, do you hear me? Take it _off!”_

Robbie started to say something about taking things off, but then there was a shudder as if something was tearing up through the floor, some titanic shift-

Aziraphale clasped his hands in front of him, eyes wide and breath coming as hard as if he had been imagining running a marathon. He tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come out, and there were tears in his eyes, terribly close to spilling.

“Crowley,” he said, his voice a thick croak, and Crowley was there, kneeling on the bed with him, wrapping his arms tight around Aziraphale's body, his cheek pressed hard to Aziraphale's.

“Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” Crowley said, not angel, and something that he hadn't even realized was under an immense amount of pressure snapped inside his chest. Whatever it was, it had apparently been holding back tears because now they came with a silent grieved vengeance, flooding his face, choking him, and all he could do was cling to Crowley as hard as he could, likely too tight, but he couldn't help himself, not when Crowley was the only steady thing in the world, the only thing that would hold him down, keep him there.

Aziraphale cried rather a lot, more than any angel should, certainly. He knew what crying was, and it was never this, this torrent of sorrow and hurt and fury that made no sound. It was only water spilling down his face until Crowley's shirt was soggy and they were both curled together on the bed as close to one another as they could get.

The torrent of tears passed as quickly as it had come, and Aziraphale's first clear breath was only embarrassed. A quick miracle banished the redness and the swelling of his nose and his eyes, removing the headache at the same time, but when he tried to sit up, Crowley pressed him down.

“Not yet,” Crowley said. “Let's just stay still for a bit, all right, angel?”

Aziraphale started to object, but why in the world should he resist lying on his soft bed with the being he loved most in all the world? Being in bed with Crowley was safe. Nothing bad happened wrapped in Crowley's arms, and he sighed, relaxing back into Crowley's embrace.

They were silent like that for a long time. The stars shifted outside the window, and some of the candles Crowley had lit started guttering. The shadows on the walls danced, and Crowley only stroked his hair, kissing his temple from time to time.

Finally, Crowley cleared his throat.

“If you didn't want to, angel, you must know that you didn't have to, right?”

Aziraphale frowned at the worry in Crowley's voice, pulling back to look at him.

“Of course I wanted to,” he said, puzzled. “I would have told you if I didn't. I should think I have had a rather lot of practice saying no to you.”

Crowley's laugh was relieved.

“That you have,” he said, sounding slightly better. “But then... why that?”

“Why what?”

Crowley's smile dropped from his face. He looked alarmed now, and when he spoke, he sounded like a man testing every slat on the rope bridge in front of him. The gorge underneath them suddenly felt very deep.

“Angel,” he said carefully. “Do you remember what just happened?”

“Of course I do.” Aziraphale said, feeling an unaccustomed surge of irritation. “Crowley, please, I'm not some silly fainting maiden.”

“You're not. But humor me. What just happened? Starting from downstairs.”

“You propositioned me. I said yes. You went upstairs. I closed up the shop. I. Hm.”

“Don't you remember?” Crowley sounded frightened, and Aziraphale shook his head, almost angry.

“Crowley, there is no need to _say_ it. Of course I remember. I was only. I was merely.”

“Yes?”

“We were going to have sex,” Aziraphale was suddenly monstrously disappointed. “I... got ready. Got myself ready.”

It wasn't right, and he knew it the moment the words were out of his mouth. Crowley was already shaking his head.

“That's not getting ready to have sex, not with me,” he said, a warning in his voice. It was soothed by a gentle squeeze of Aziraphale's hand, and Aziraphale squeezed back, grateful in a way he couldn't explain.

“I... yes.”

“Aziraphale. Can you tell me what happened after you came in the door?”

Of course he could, it was all him, even if the memory already had a glassy quality to it. His recollection slid off of it with unusual ease.

“I came in. You said you had been thinking, that we should take things slowly. I came to lean against you and touch you. I told you you could of course have whatever you liked. You turned and told me to take my face off.”

“Smacked you a good one too,” Crowley said ruefully, running the pad of his thumb across Aziraphale's unblemished cheek. “Sorry about that.”

“It wasn't-” he started to say, but then he checked himself. Of course it was him.

“It's all you,” Crowley said, as if reading his thoughts. “But you have the memories. That's good.”

“Of course I do. They're mine.”

“Tell me, do you remember, let's say, 1915?”

“Well, of course I do, let's see...”

He frowned, remembering, and almost immediately, he found what Crowley must be referring to. The memory was glassy and distorted but still there. It had always been there- it was only that it was in a place he never cared to look. His cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“You and I met. At that club. The Roundhouse. And I was... oh Crowley. I should never have said those things to you!”

To his shame, Crowley only looked relieved.

“Stung a bit, I won't lie, but you have the memory there if you want to go looking for it. Looks like Robbie can't keep you away.”

Aziraphale made a face at the name, irritated and disgusted in equal surprising measure.

“I should lock him away,” Aziraphale found himself muttering. “Thick doors and chained down.”

Crowley shook his head, hugging Aziraphale tight.

“No, that never works, believe me. There's plenty that have tried. There's no such thing as a perfect cage for something like that, and after all, it's you. I would never want _any_ part of you in a cage, never in all my life.”

It brought Aziraphale unaccountably close to tears again, mingled love and gratitude and yes, frustration.

“Then what?” he asked, aware of the petulance in his voice. “Do we never-?”

That drew a real laugh from Crowley, who wrapped his arms around Aziraphale again and flopped back onto the bed gracelessly, drawing Aziraphale with him.

“Aw, angel, someone feeling a little frustrated? Little hot around the collar?”

“Oh, you mustn't tease me,” Aziraphale said, but Crowley only held him tighter.

“Why not? Give you a taste of your own medicine. See how _you_ like being teased and twitted about for centuries...”

“I wasn't doing that!” Aziraphale cried, on the verge of a real upset, but Crowley hugged him close, leaning in to plant a kiss right on the corner of his mouth.

“No, you weren't,” Crowley said tenderly. “And I'm not teasing you now. Well, not more than a little. C'mon, angel. It's okay.”

“It seems that we are very far from _okay,”_ Aziraphale huffed, but Crowley shook his head.

“We are. Of course we are. Because this? Nothing we can't handle. Nothing _I_ can't handle. It's you, and never in all my long life have I been afraid of you.”

“Truly?”

“Cross my heart. It's just different, that's all. Here, look, I'm going to kiss you, all right?”

Aziraphale sighed as Crowley kissed him on the mouth, firm and sweet as they had learned together, just the tip of his tongue sliding over Aziraphale's full lower lip. When he pulled back, he smiled more confidently.

“We can do that, right? No need for other faces, nothing scary?”

“No...”

“So we just build off that. We go slow. We take our time, which is the opposite of a chore. We'll be fine. We'll build.”

A long pause, and then Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“So?”

“Hm?”

“You were, ah, speaking of building?”

Crowley blinked once, slowly.

“Right now?”

“Well.” Aziraphale blushed. “You make a convincing case. Is there anything to be afraid of?”

Crowley considered, his long fingers tangling with Aziraphale's as he thought.

“Not if we take it slow. Not if I keep an eye on things. Still, it ought not stop us from having a bit of fun, hm?”

“No, he shouldn't,” Aziraphale mumbled, and he saw Crowley's troubled look, there and gone again before the demon nodded. He thought they might be revisiting the topic in the days to come, and that was fine as long they could do other things right now.

“All right, angel, but given your state, I'm going to do the driving.”

“My state-?” Aziraphale asked, bristling a little, but Crowley only grinned, lolling, leering and just a tiny bit menacing.

“Well, yeah,” Crowley purred. “New at this sort of thing, I think. Untried. Inexperienced.”

“I am not.”

There were images in his head, strange and dark things if he went too deep, that told him he wasn't, but Crowley only pressed against him in the most insinuating way, one hand reaching up to comb through Aziraphale's curls with lazy possession.

“I think you might be,” he said. “Demon, remember? I know these things. I think you're brand new. I think no one's ever touched you like this before.”

Aziraphale started to object, but then Crowley leaned in to tug his shirt collar away from his throat, mouthing the skin he found underneath with tender insistence. The shiver of sensation that ran through him made him whine, and yes, Crowley was right. No one ever had touched him like this before.

“Crowley...”

“Tell me if you want me to stop or slow down,” Crowley murmured, nuzzling the point of his jaw and the shockingly sensitive spot behind his ear. “Nod's as good as a wink's as good as a poke to me. Otherwise, let me take care of my precious angel. Let me touch you like I've always wanted to, show you what it's all about.”

“I think I know what it's all about,” Aziraphale sniffed, but then his grasp on his dignity slipped completely as Crowley spread his jacket open, starting on the buttons of his vest. There was no other word for it, Crowley _seduced_ him out of his clothes, stripping them away with a care and ease that was as much a part of this as the kisses had been.

 _I didn't know it was quite about this,_ Aziraphale thought hazily, and then he gave up on thinking at all for a while as Crowley, still clothed, curled up next to him to kiss him again.

“I'll never get enough of this,” Crowley murmured between kisses. “Never. Not in a thousand years. Maybe we'll take a break at the two thousand year mark, but right back to it after, no time for lollygagging.”

Aziraphale laughed breathlessly, and it came to him that this was a part of it too, Crowley unable to stop talking, laughing, the way Crowley's hand slid down his chest and over the curve of his belly and back again.

“I want all of this,” Crowley said between kisses. “You drive me out of my mind, angel, you know that? Just all of you here for me to grab and kiss and lick and love. Only one cure for a temptation like you.”

“And what's that?” Aziraphale asked dreamily.

“Why, giving in to you, of course.”

Crowley bent down, and from the look of hunger in his face, Aziraphale momentarily thought that the demon _was_ going to eat him. Then Crowley kissed his chest, fondling his hips and his thick waist and his round arms and shoulders, everywhere he could reach as he worshiped Aziraphale with his mouth.

Crowley covered him with kisses, his hands everywhere, and all Aziraphale could do was twist slowly in the sheets, murmuring helplessly about wanting to touch Crowley as well.

“Ah, mustn't be greedy, angel. You'll get your turn. This is mine. This is all mine.”

In demonstration, he swept his hand down Aziraphale's body, shoulder down to knee and then back to circle Aziraphale's cock under the bulge of his stomach. He circled the thick shaft with his fingers, drawing slowly down the length before returning to cup his balls with a slightly easier touch.

“Yes, that is most definitely mine,” Crowley said happily, and Aziraphale buzzed with so much pleasure and sensation that it took him a shockingly long time to understand why Crowley was squirming down on the bed. Then Crowley's fingers circled the base of his shaft tightly and Crowley's wet mouth covered the tip.

“Crowley!”

Crowley's only response was a pleased grunt, and he reached up with his free hand to take Aziraphale's.

A nod was as good as a wink was as good as a poke, but Aziraphale didn't care about any of that right now. All he cared about was Crowley's mouth on him, Crowley's weight draped over his legs, Crowley''s warmth against him, and oh yes, this was new, absolutely new, absolutely unexpected in all of its particulars.

A memory of wet London cobbles and a ripped shirt threatened, and then it was gone again as reality asserted itself. Instead it was Crowley's sweet mouth drawing on his cock and pleasure surging through him as inevitable as the tide. Aziraphale managed to prop himself up on one elbow so he could look down at Crowley sucking him. Breathless, he took in the spill of black-clad demon over his legs, the thatch of red hair, just the flash of golden eyes as Crowley looked up.

That was what did it, the pleasure with the truth of it being Crowley, only Crowley, and his body shook, the sensations taking him and making him shout as he spilled into Crowley's mouth. It was a short sharp crest, and it dropped him just as rapidly. It left him breathing hard and shivering as he reached for Crowley almost blindly.

Crowley immediately shifted up to hold him again, hugging him and murmuring soft and loving words it almost hurt to hear. When he regained control of his limbs, Aziraphale clung to Crowley, turning to bury his red face in Crowley's shoulder, shaking until he he could finally regain control of his breath.

“There you are angel,” Crowley murmured. “There you are. It's only me and it's only you. It's fine.”

“How do you know?” Aziraphale found himself asking. He barely recognized his voice so wrung out and raw from pleasure. It was a new thing, and he marveled at it.

“Because as long as it's me and you, of course we're going to be all right,” Crowley said with confidence.

Aziraphale knew that it was at least partially a fib. Crowley didn't know it any more than he did. There were dark things inside him, and at least one of them, it turned out, had a name.

It was fine. There were dark things in Crowley, too. There was, Aziraphale suspected, in everything that had a touch of grace to it.

Right now, though, the darkness pulled back and left them in each other's arms, the candles burned out one by one, the only sound in the room was their soft twined breaths.

 _Only you and only me_ , Aziraphale though, and he closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> -Been a bit, hasn't it? I've missed this, and I've missed all of you! 
> 
> -Okay, I'm not entirely sure I played quite fair with all of this. is this ending earned? Does everything get the time it needs? I don't know, but I'm willing to let it stand for now. If anyone has any thoughts, I'd love to hear them.
> 
> -For someone who's never read Measure for Measure, I sure made use of it for titles in this series...
> 
> -So Robbie. I've spent some time thinking about it, and Robbie isn't actually an independent person (though maybe I wondered for a while). He's something that exists due to angelic powers, an immortal lifespan and long long life of learning to shove things away when they are too hard to look at straight on. He's a pattern, but one with feelings, and that's probably a bad place to be.
> 
> -I have a lotta thoughts about this particular series, but most importantly for the moment, it's done, and I hope you all enjoyed it, and that you are all doing well in the world out there!


End file.
